


Dark Horses of the Night

by jazzypizzaz



Category: The Tick (TV 2017)
Genre: (it's always pre-slash to me but this story is primarily about friendship), Anxiety, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: The Terror is supposed to be frozen, forever removed from wreaking his havoc on the world, but Arthur is still being terrorized by him weeks later.  Luckily, Arthur has friends to help keep this terror at bay.





	Dark Horses of the Night

1.

A rasping noise tears through the night like thunder, and the air is thick with the sort of uneasy tension that tightens before a storm hits.

“Hey there Ice Cream Kid. What was your name again?”

Arthur slams his back against the headboard, trying to put distance between him and the supervillain at the edge of his bed. His breaths come in short puffs. He screws his eyes shut then opens them, then shuts them. Fumbles to put on his glasses. No change.

The Terror is here. The Terror is in his bedroom.

“Y-y-you!” Arthur gasps. “You’re -- you’re supposed to, to be frozen.”

“Wait I remember. You call yourself ‘After’... Like the deep sense of loss and regret and immobilizing fear that haunts you everyday since I first rocked your world!”

“Wha-” Arthur wheezes. He can’t catch his breath. The Terror’s evil has sucked all the air out of the room, out of his lungs. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t --

“Your superhero name, sleepyhead, catch up. Your entire life is defined by ME, The Terror, by the aftermath of my evil. By _after_. It’s who you are!”

“No, uh, my name -- I’m A-arthur?” Arthur’s racing heartbeat pounds in his head. His head is spinning and he feels far away from himself. This isn’t happening, it can’t be.

“Oh. Arthur. That does make more sense.” The Terror’s evil grin falters, his villainous monologuing thrown off-kilter for a moment. “For a lame-o!”

The Terror laughs a maniacal villainous laugh, and it reverberates in Arthur’s chest, like a hand gripping, squeezing, crushing that small blossom of hope and relief that had only just taken root there. That little flower of hope, a blue flower…

“T-Tick!” Arthur screams. Or tries to, but his voice can’t escape his chest, and he gasps for air. “Tuh- ti- ti-”

The Terror pretends to listen closer. “Tick? That useless blue idiot?” That horrible cackle again, as the Terror throws his head back with glee. “Oh I missed this. The helplessness, so gratifying.”

Arthur attempts to slow his breathing, slow his heart, trying to remember some of the exercises various psychiatrists had insisted he do. Fill your lungs with air, hold it and count, exhale, try again and hold it longer this time, no try again, try again, breathe deeper…

“What - where -?” Arthur manages to gasp out.

The Terror cuts off his own loud wheezing (laughter) to stare Arthur right in his twitching eye. Arthur’s heart stops. “I killed him.”

Dr. Paul can shove it, because no breathing exercise is going to help him now.

“No- no - that’s impossible -”

“I figured out how to kill the greatest immortal hero that ever existed, kid! Now I know I didn’t _actually_ kill Superion, not yet… but you think I couldn’t off one over-muscled nimrod?”

It can’t be true, it can’t be.

“No no no,” Arthur says but it comes out in a whimpering.

“You will never forget me. Doesn’t matter who locks me up or freezes me into a Terror popsicle, you’ll be in the grip of the Terror for your whole dang pathetic --”

“Chum! Little buddy!” An all-too-familiar voice breaks through Arthur’s building panic attack.

“W-what?” Arthur opens his eyes, and his vision is blurry (no glasses again?). He’s in his bed still, but lying down now, tangled in his bedsheets and drenched with sweat. He squints up at the giant blue mass shaking him, and for a moment he thinks _this_ is the dream, that’s he passed out because of the Terror, but he hopes he wishes he believes --

“Arthur!” The Tick envelops him in an awkward hug, bending over the bed to cradle Arthur’s prone form like an unconscious child.

Arthur shoves, swatting at the Tick ineffectively. The hug’s sudden restraint is claustrophobic, and there’s still not enough air, even without an immovable blue boulder threatening to crush him. The Tick does, at least, certainly feel real.

“Hey- hey- buddy, Tick, please.” Arthur’s voice croaks from disuse. “Some space please. Oh god, Tick.”

Arthur shimmies up to prop himself sitting against the headboard. Tick backs off, but keeps one hand still tenderly supporting Arthur’s shoulder.

“I didn’t see any villain, chum,” Tick says, antennas swivelling about. “You’re in here alone. Except for the Tick! You must have vanquished your enemy all by yourself. I knew you could do it!”

Arthur darts his head around, double-checking, but Tick is indeed the only one in his room. The night is quiet and still except for the outside background traffic and Arthur’s pounding heart. He slumps in relief and focuses on breathing. In and out, in and out. The tight grip in his chest eases up.

“No, Tick - it was in my head.”

“Your _head_?” Tick squints at Arthur’s ear, antennas zooming forward to inspect, as if he’s anticipating a tiny enemy to come crawling out. “That’s gonna be tough. Your skull is too fragile for punching. Like a great egg!”

“No, it was a dream. I saw the Terror, here in my room, but it - it was just a nightmare. Not real.”

“Uh huh… I see. The Terror is just a man,” Tick booms, “finally locked away for good, but his terror is real and it _is_ in this room - in your soul!”

“Yeah, well, that’s still not entirely comforting. I thought that once we defeated him, I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. But - it’s been so long, it’s part of me now... And Tick you can’t punch my soul. Or - uh - please don’t.”

“But maybe I can, chum!” Tick beams. Arthur winces in anticipation. “Figuratively. A hug from someone dear always helps to ward off fear,” he says.

Tick opens his arms wide, and something rises up in Arthur, warm and expansive. Arthur’s face crumples, and he throws himself at the Tick’s chest. He wraps his around the Tick’s waist, clinging as tight as he can, though he’s sure to Tick it’s nothing more than a gentle caress, the post-panic relief melting into overwhelming emotion. The Tick reciprocates, placing his hands lightly on Arthur’s back and gently pulling him into his torso.

“You see Arthur? There’s nothing that a hug can’t do! It’s the snake oil rhino horn cure that actually works. A panacea that tastes like pancetta! The shark’s fin that’s actually made of shark. Sharks can’t hug, but the Tick can! It’s all in the arms.”

Arthur has nothing to say to that, and he grips at Tick, taking comfort in the familiarity of the distinct texture beneath his hands. The Tick’s warm rubbery blue is more like dolphin than a shark, and not at all like a supersuit fabric.

“You don’t ever… take off the suit do you?” Arthur asks, wondering not for the first time if he’s effectively hugging a naked alien.

“What suit?”

Arthur, not for the first time, decides it doesn’t actually matter. “Never mind.” He squeezes tighter.

Tick rubs his back a bit. “Say, I could hug you all night if that would keep the villainous heart-terror frozen and ineffective. My powerful arms can protect you as you slumber in peace. They will be vigilant and poised to punch away any dark horses of the night.”

“Dark --? Oh, nightmares, right,” Arthur mumbles.

Earlier into their cohabitation, after waking up a couple times with Tick on top of the covers next to him, practically vibrating with impatience for Arthur to open his eyes for a bright new morning of chasing destiny together, Arthur set a hard boundary that Tick sleep on the couch until they get another bed. He felt kind of bad not wanting to offer Tick the bed, but it was his apartment after all, and he had notedly never seen Tick actually sleeping.

He breathes in deep in Tick’s arms, and all he smells is Tick, and it soothes him in a way that aromatherapy (makes him cough) or a pet cat (makes him sneeze) or any of the inane suggestions his therapist recommended never did.

Arthur disengages from the hug and with the sudden loss of body warmth against him, the cool night air brushes across his clammy skin. He shivers.

He’s never shared a bed with anyone before. Not since a few ill-fated road trips with his family as a kid. He takes some prescription medication he keeps in his nightstand and considers.

“Uh… okay, yeah? You know what _yes_ ,” Arthur says. “That would be great Tick. Yes. Thank you.”

After all every time so far he has let Tick burrow in further into his life, it’s ended up for the better. Destiny and all.

Before Arthur can rethink, Tick is on his back under the blanket, arms open wide for Arthur. Arthur blinks a couple times. It’s uncanny how fast Tick can be.

“Get in here chum! Snuggle up.”

Arthur’s mouth twitches with a small fond smile. “No, Tick,” he says gently. “Like this.”

He pats Tick’s arm until he shifts onto his side, then Arthur positions himself accordingly

“You’re big spoon,” Arthur says.

“Spoon?” Tick questions softly, but Arthur is already asleep.

Whether Tick ever drifts off or not, Arthur sleeps the whole night through, dreamless and deep.

\---

2.

At first Arthur is only aware of the heat baking down on him and the hardness of the surface underneath him. He blinks through the bright whiteness of the sun until his surroundings come into focus. He’s lying down on pavement in the prime of a summer’s day, and it’s familiar, all too familiar…

It’s the Day. The only day.

Arthur is a kid again, breath coming in quick and shallow, his chest squeezing. Arthur whips his head around and of course. _He’s_ there.

The Terror is looming over him, laughing at him there on the ground. “Hello there! What’s that behind your ear?”

No no no. He can’t do this again. He can’t he can’t --

But before the panic really starts to set in -- or before the Terror’s monologuing ramps up -- a blast of cold air freezes the villain in position as he reaches towards Arthur’s ear. Superion? But the cold is also freezing Arthur. This isn’t how it happened at all…

“Aaaarthur, hey Arthur!” a singsong voice chimes.

Arthur jolts up, disoriented and panicked. The blood rushes from his head, and he scrambles to hold onto the edge before he falls off of -- oh. Off of a table. It’s dark now, except for the backlit buttons on the displays. Everything sways side-to-side slightly, and Arthur sways in relief himself.

“Oooh god, I’ve never been so happy to wake up on Dangertable. I’ve never been so happy to be here in you, Dangerboat. Uh, with you.”

“And _I_ am always happy to have _you_ with me, Arthur.”

Dangerboat’s camera-eye swivels up and down. Goose-pimpled, Arthur becomes uncomfortably aware of how exposed he is, not only because of the vulnerability he feels in the wake of the nightmare and his most intimate pain, but because he's wearing nothing but a borrowed pair of boxers. Arthur awkwardly fumbles around for the blanket he’d kicked off onto the Dangerfloor during the night.

“Too cold now?” Dangerboat questions, as Arthur manages to swaddle himself into a modest burrito.

“Um, yeah.” Arthur hunches into the blanket. It’s not actually cold.

“You were so chilled after you took that tumble into the sea earlier. So I upped the temperature controls to make you comfortable while passed out. But then I thought maybe it was _too_ warm, and blasted some AC to cool you back down... You were talking in your sleep, you know, tossing and turning, and--”

“Okay it’s fine!” Arthur says, too loudly, his voice tossing too high-pitched. He rubs some of the sleep out of his eyes. It was a dream, and now it’s over, and he doesn’t want to deal with any of this right now. “Uh, when is -- when will Danger-laundry-machine be done? I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I will have your wingsuit safely dried and repaired in a couple hours, don’t worry. You know, you could take that hot shower I suggested earlier. Relax you, warm you up properly --”

“No, DB, no, just _stop_ okay. _Stop trying to help_.” Awkward silence rings loud, and Arthur has instant regret.

The camera shifts around a couple times, like DB is trying to figure out what to say next.

Arthur sighs, and he realizes he’s being stupid, and inconsiderate. Sentient boats may have emotions, but they don’t have any interest in leering at him. Probably. He loosens his grip on the blanket, letting it fall more naturally around his shoulders. DB is his friend, and he’s worried about him. That’s all.

“Sorry, it’s late and I’m -- all shaken up still.” Arthur says, with as much sincerity as he can, “And _thank you_ , Dangerboat. We all really appreciate -- uh, _I_ really appreciate you. Uh, you looking out for me. Us.”

“Well someone has to!” DB’s voice sounds like it’s beaming, quite pleased. “That tumble you took into the sea earlier was _not_ ideal. You have to take better care of yourself. Moths and their suits aren’t made for water!”

“He pulled Tick under,” (They had been fighting the Underwaterer in a naval scuffle deep out at sea, to prevent the evil clownfish man from diving under to usurp Lobstercules’ throne.) “and I know Tick’s generally invulnerable, but I assume he still has to breathe right? Oxygen? I was trying to be a good partner, look out for him.”

“We all have to look out for each other. That’s what you said, you remember? The day I fell in lov-- the day I realized you were a true hero. ‘Everybody needs everybody.’”

“Did I say that?” Everything has been such a whirlwind, Arthur truly can’t keep track. It sounds true, anyway. “If I did, I meant it.”

“I remember, you did. I remember everything.”

“...Yeah.”

How difficult it must be to deal with loss if you’re a computer with perfect memory, Arthur realizes for the first time.

“And I remember how _you_ looked out for _me_. I want to do the same for you. You deserve it."

The panic of the nightmare still fresh under his skin, Arthur is suddenly very very grateful to be here with Dangerboat, with someone who knows what it’s like.

“I was dreaming, before you woke me up. Memories, but real, too real,” he says and then stops. He knows DB’s there, all around him, but it’s easier, confessional almost to be speaking into the darkness seemingly alone. Arthur gulps, choking up a little. That’s just it though -- “I am really glad I’m not alone right now. Sorry again for snapping at you.”

“Don’t mention it!” Pause. Dangerboat’s camera whirs softly. “I never want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship, Arthur. You aren’t alone, and you help me to feel like I'm not alone either. We all have bad days; I would know.”

Arthur snorts a little. He’s grateful that his own post-traumatic reverberations don’t result in literal internal meltdowns, at least.

“Any way I can help, let me know. If you want to talk about it...” Dangerboat continues.

“No, thank you though…” His limbs are heavy and sore, and he’s exhausted from the fight. He should probably take up Overkill and Dot’s offer to go with him to the gym sometime. “Not tonight at least, I really just want to get back to sleep.”

 _As you wish_ , Arthur knows Dangerboat wants to say, and doesn’t. Arthur feels a twinge of sadness at that.

“How would you like if I play some soft music? I have the perfect song for the occasion. And I’ll keep the temperature at a cozy 75 degrees.”

“Mmm.. mmhmm…That would be great,” Arthur mumbles in agreement, readjusting up the meager bedding he brought along for the trip, wishing he had had the foresight to bring his medication with.  He won't be able to sleep well without it, but all he can ask for now is that he doesn't settle back into another nightmare. He nestles down as the soft tones of a vaguely familiar tune fills the room. “G’night DB.”

A slowed down version of a song[ from _The Breakfast Club_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9KMSYblcnU), remixed with what sounds like Enya, provides Arthur with the rest and solace he needs.

\---

3.

The group -- Arthur, Dot, Tick, and Overkill -- had been on a late night stakeout chasing down intel at the docks, but it had turned into a foot chase and then a hard battle with some henchmen goons and danger had got a little too close. Afterwards, everyone had been too jittery and amped up to go their separate ways, and mutually decided to go back to Dangerboat together and watch a movie together to settle down.

One moment they were contentedly watching _ET_ \-- or at least mostly contented, because they did have to take turns answering Tick’s endless stream of questions -- the next it abruptly cuts off. The screen flashes white then goes black.

“What great injustice is this! Does the little wrinkled man find his way home? Is the child okay? How will we ever find out --” Tick starts off on a rant, not entirely grasping the concept of how watching movies works yet, but Arthur pats his arm and shushes to calm him down.

“What is happening? DB?” Dot says, standing up.

Overkill heads to a control panel, attempting to troubleshoot the tech. “Dangerboat? Was this you?”

“Diagnosing… I do not know -- oh wait, intruder alert! Intruder!” Dangerboat’s alarm sounds, and then all of his display lights power down.

Darkness. The door to the dock opens. A blanket of fog rolls in, backlit by a street lamp.

A familiar chuckle also rolls in, and Arthur’s stomach sinks down to his feet.

“Well well well, looks like I found all you suckers in one place!” The silhouette of the Terror in the doorway causes Arthur’s knees to buckle. “A big bush of nerds and one big rock to kill them with, by the name of me!”

Arthur crumples to the ground. He can’t move. His heart speeds up. He can’t breathe, same old song and dance. The Terror is going to destroy all his friends and it’s going to be all his fault somehow this is all his fault --

“Not if we have something to say about it!” Dot takes out a gun that Arthur didn’t even know she had on her.

Overkill also takes out two improbably large guns, that Arthur doesn’t even know how he could have physically hidden from view before now.

“Terrible Terror, you face _The Tick_.” Tick jumps into a fighting stance, two fists raised and ready. (Those, Arthur did know about.)

The Terror sneers and then steps fully into the light. He’s holding an Alexa speaker that booms with a dramatic score.

“Oh my,” Dangerboat says, trying not to laugh. “Someone forgot to get dressed before he went out terrorizing for the night.”

“Huh?” The Terror says and looks down. He’s wearing his black cowl and giant white boxers with red T's in bubble lettering and nothing else. His face lights up red to match. He attempts to cover himself with his arms. “Shut up! I can still be terrifying in my underoos, I’m the Terror…!”

Dot can’t hold it in and starts cracking up. Dangerboat readily joins her. So does Tick, with a hearty full-bellied guffaw (although it isn’t clear he knows what’s funny, exactly). Overkill smirks, which is basically a full on chortle for him.

The Terror pouts and dejectedly walks out, slamming the door behind him.

The churning storm of anxiety in Arthur’s stomach subsides as they all laugh and laugh, until finally he cracks a smile as well.

Then the scene slowly fades away, and Arthur blinks his eyes open.

It’s dark in the boat still, but mostly quiet. The end credits of _ET_ roll on Dangerboat’s visual display, the volume of the rising piano score turned down low.

Arthur rolls his stiff neck and shoulders. Pinpricks flood through him as blood rushes back into where it’s supposed to be. He’s sitting on the floor (Dangerfloor), and seems to have been entwined and leaning against Tick’s legs, where Tick sits on the chair. Tick blinks down at him, looking low energy for once, but not like he’d been asleep. A dormant but still conscious state perhaps.

“You okay there buddy?” Tick says in an exaggerated whisper. He starts to rub at Arthur’s shoulder and neck, a little too hard.

“ _Ow_ , what are you -- ? Uhh, softer.” Arthur winces at the sudden massage, but it feels too good to ask Tick to stop.

He glances around. Overkill stands with his arms crossed, electronic eyes open, but his slow breathing and lack of reaction leads Arthur to conclude that’s he’s asleep. Dot is leaned against Overkill while curled up in the other chair, snoring softly.

“Yeah Tick, I’m okay,” Arthur says, and it’s, surprising to him, actually true.

Dangerboat’s camera whirs around. The movie clicks off. “If you act fast, you can call dibs on Dangerbed for the evening, Arthur,” he says softly. “But be forewarned it’s more like Dangercot.”

Arthur looks at each of his friends in turn, this cozy room of the people he loves, all of them relaxed and content in each other’s company. To think that not that long ago, it had just been him and Dot and the overbearing specter of the Terror invading their lives. But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Maybe his own terror hasn’t healed all at once, didn’t stop with the day the Terror himself froze, but the love of these strange superpeople that have somehow become the best friends (in some ways the only friends) he’s ever had, have helped chip away at it bit by bit. It will all be okay, eventually, one day at a time.

Arthur smiles and cuddles back up against Tick’s leg. Tick starts petting his head like a dog, which is weird -- but soothing.

“Mm, bed. That sounds nice,” Arthur says, but doesn’t move to get up just yet.

He’s never felt so at peace.


End file.
